


Just A Scratch

by Rockinmuffin



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Depiction of Minor Car Accident, Friendship, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, He also likes David Bowie, Humor, Mild Angst, Reader-Insert, Sunstreaker likes to argue for argument's sake, Trust Issues, shhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinmuffin/pseuds/Rockinmuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You both bear scratches.  Those on the outside, you fix with bandages and touch-up paint.  The scratches on the inside, you’re not sure how to fix, but you think you can deal with them as long as you have each other.</p>
<p>...Doesn't mean he won't still complain about the ones on the outside.</p>
<p>You + Sunstreaker friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> G1 Universe. I've been in a Transformers mood lately. I want Sunstreaker to be my moody gay robot friend.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers.

The argument starts the same way it does every night: with a request so unreasonable, so _unthinkable_ , that Sunstreaker can hardly believe you so much as dare to voice it in the first place.

“Will you let me drive? Just this once?”

“No way.” Sunstreaker’s voice sounds from all around you, speakers blasting in indignation. “You’re an _awful_ driver.”

“What?” You struggle to scoot forward from your spot in the front passenger seat, but the seatbelt holds you firmly against the backrest. “No, dude, shut up. I’m the best at driving.”

“Really?” His rearview mirror slants in a gesture that roughly translates to a raised eyebrow. “How about the time you hit that deer?”

You stare back at your own reflection in the mirror. “That was hardly my fault. It was dark and that deer came from out of nowhere. There was no possible way to avoid it.”

“Uh-huh. And when you backed up over its corpse and ran over it again?”

“Hey, I was pissed off; justifiably so.”

“Besides,” his windshield wipers flick, “The last thing I need is your greasy fingerprints all over my steering wheel.”

“Okay, whoa, rude. My fingers are _not_ greasy.”

“Yes they are. Your organic human skin secretes a nasty layer of oil that likes to stick to every surface you touch. Between that and all the dead skin cells you shed, it’s a wonder I let you in here at all.” He pauses. “Why _do_ I let you in here again?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Probably because I’m charming.”

“That’s arguable.”

“Only because you love to argue for argument’s sake.”

His wipers flick again. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” You cross your arms over your chest. “You’re doing it right now.”

“I’m not arguing for the sake of arguing, I’m arguing because you’re wrong.”

You roll your eyes, throwing your arms up in defeat. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re _always_ right. So, are we done fighting now? Because I can’t wait to sit behind that steering wheel of yours and see just how fast we can go.”

“No way, kid. Your behind will stay sitting right where it is.” You feel the seatbelt tighten around you in response. “Besides, I just got waxed this morning. The last thing I need is for you to drive me through a mud puddle.”

“Aw, come on, Sunshine!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“I promise I’ll be careful. Pretty please?”

Sunstreaker’s engine stutters out a sound that sounds suspiciously like derogatory laughter. “If you think I’d ever trust someone who doesn’t have any wheels to take complete control of my body, you’re either crazy or stupid.”

You narrow your eyes. Something about what he says, the way he says it, strikes a nerve with you. “It’s not like I’m asking you to let me take control in the middle of battle or during a getaway. I just want to drive us along the highway. Are you saying you can’t even trust me for that much?”

“I don’t feel like getting into this right now. Just drop it.”

“But—”

“I said drop it! I’m not letting you drive and that’s _final_.”

You flinch at the sharpness of his tone. You’ve always known Sunstreaker to be a temperamental mech, but rarely do you have the full intensity of his ire directed your way. Sure, the two of you’d bicker at one another and he’s never been shy about telling you when you’re getting on his last nerve, but it’s always in good nature. Well, as good-natured as Sunstreaker can be.

This time, he’s really mad. To be honest, you’re feeling a little angry yourself.

You don’t even want to look at him. Unfortunately, it’s hard to avoid when you’re sitting inside him so you have to settle for curling into yourself and staring down at your hands in your lap.

“Primus, will you quit your sulking? All of this because I won’t let you drive? You’re acting like a sparkling.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m just—”

You cut yourself short. Yeah, okay, you _are_ sulking. More than that, though, you’re surprised by how much your chest hurts. It’s like heart burn meets heart palpitations mixed with a heaping load of self-doubt and insecurities. Does he really think so little of you?

You start to realize that this is about more to you than a simple joyride.

“I trust you, you know.”

Your voice shatters the silence like a hammer through glass. Sunstreaker says nothing, just continues to drive along the highway. You take that as a sign to continue.

“I trust you with my life. I always know I’m safe when I ride with you because I know, no matter what happens, whether we’re facing Decepticons or icy roads, you’ll do everything in your power to protect me.” You turn to stare out the window absently. “I know I can’t do the same for you, that I’m only a weak fleshy human. I can’t protect you the way you protect me.”

Sunstreaker remains quiet.

“I guess…” You bite your lip to hold back, well, _not tears_ , but something that burns and rumbles deep in the back of your throat. Once you’ve quelled the feeling, you continue. “I wish you trusted me half as much as I trusted you.”

An audible exhale of air bursts from the air conditioning unit with enough force to ruffle your bangs. He pulls over to the highway’s shoulder, comes to a complete stop, and releases the seatbelt buckle that held you captive.

“Alright, you little grease monkey,” he says, “Scoot on over to the driver’s seat.”

You blink. “You’re really going to let me drive?”

“Hurry up before I change my mind.”

You hop on over, jabbing your thigh into the parking brake in your excitement, but a little bruised skin isn’t enough to ruin your good mood. Not even Susnstreaker’s grossed-out groan when you grab onto the wheel can make your smile falter. You just laugh as he grumbles something mostly inaudible about greasy prints and dead skin cells before buckling in your seatbelt.

Just to prove to him how careful you can be, you put on the turn signal, look at the side-view mirror _and_ the rearview mirror before pulling back onto the road—a pointless endeavor, honestly; it’s late and there’s no one else on the highway, but you figured Sunstreaker would appreciate it nonetheless.

Once you’re on road, however, the safety precautions take a backseat to your need for speed. Soon enough, your foot’s slamming down on the pedal and Sunstreaker’s engine is revving in excitement and the two of you are going at least twenty miles over the speed limit, laughing like a couple of lunatics.

That’s about the time two deer decide to jump out in front of you.

“WATCH OUT!”

You swerve out of the way just in time to avoid the doe and its fawn. The wheels squeal as they spin, burning rubber into the asphalt as you and Sunstreaker careen out of control, across three lanes, and over the shoulder, speed diminishing as tires traverse over the rough terrain of grass and dirt and rock. You turn the steering wheel sharply, straightening out the tires to avoid a head-on collision into the guardrail.

Then you hear it; the high-pitched screech of metal on metal as Sunstreaker’s passenger side scrapes along the guardrail just before the car comes to a complete stop.

After that, there’s a long moment of tense silence.

“Well, that was a close call, huh?”

“ _Get out_.”

“But, Sunstreaker—”

“ _ **NOW**_.”

The car door at your left pops open and you climb out without further complaint. You hold your breath as Sunstreaker’s passenger mirror angles itself so that he can better assess the damage. The mirror stays in that position until you run out of air and are forced to gasp for breath. The earth around you trembles as the yellow Lamborghini before you shifts and unfolds until you’re staring up at over three thousand pounds of angry robot.

He gestures stiffly to the long scratch that boldly stands out against his paint job before fixing you with a pointed glare.

You gulp, meeting his gaze with a nervous smile. “…That’ll buff right out.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

****

**BONUS ENDING:**

“Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up: A nice fresh buff, wash, and wax from your favorite human!”

“David Bowie?”

“What, _no_! I meant me!”

“…Fine. But I’m never letting you drive _again_.”

“Whatever, dude. That’s what you said the last time.”


End file.
